To Protect, Exsanguinate, and Defend
by couchbarnacle
Summary: The In Vein team is back! John and Sherlock face kidnapping, vampire hunters, and uncomfortable emotional displays in this sequel. Slash. RE-WRITTEN! The other version was driving me completely mad.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so I'm terribly sorry! I was so excited about the first draft of this story and then I got like five chapters in and the entire plot line just crumbled to bits. I've retooled all of it and am much happier with this story arc. Some of the story will remain the same, but most of it has been re-written or dropped altogether. I hope you like it better as well and I included a lovely little bit of Sherlock/John smut in Chapter 2 to make up for the inconvenience. I hope it's acceptable! Sorry again, and happy reading!**

Mycroft glanced at his watch again and sighed taking a sip of his glass of wine. It was twenty-three minutes past the hour and he was still waiting on Sawyer. According to his assistant, he only had another twelve minutes to wait for the Corporal before he had to either go ahead and order or leave and head back to the office. He reached into his pocket and dialed the younger man's number and snapped his phone shut in frustration when it went to straight to voicemail.

He was quite positive that Sawyer hadn't forgotten about their dinner date. He'd been the one to instigate it after all. They didn't actually have a lot of time to spend together. He was busy with the internal workings of a country and the Corporal was the acting liaison for Mummy with the vampires. But they'd be able to see each other at least a few times a week catching up either at Mycroft's townhome or Sawyer's flat. This last separation had been for two weeks while Sawyer was working on some deal in Russia and had demanded that they go out to celebrate when he returned. Mycroft had already checked that Sawyer's flight had landed successfully and that he'd made it through customs without any problems. So the list of possible reasons for the tardiness was narrowed down considerably. It was mildly troubling that Sawyer would have his phone turned off but he often would take that extra security measure when making contact with Mummy. Mycroft picked up his phone again and dialed the number to his mother's office.

"Mycroft, dear." His mother said happily. "How are you?"

"Fine, Mummy." He answered politely. "And you?"

"Splendid." She replied. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"I was just curious about when Sawyer would be arriving for dinner." He said a bit huffy. "He was supposed to be here twenty-seven minutes ago. Is the briefing taking longer than usual?"

"Mycroft, whatever are you talking about?" She asked curiously. "I did a video briefing with the Corporal several hours ago on the flight over."

"He's not with you then?" Mycroft asked feeling a slight sense of unease settle over him.

"No, dear." She said mirroring his concern. "Let me see what I can do for you on this end and I'll touch back in five minutes."

"Yes, alright." He said. "I'll just see what some of my people can do here."

He sent a flurry of texts and his assistant appeared by his side within seconds.

"No sign of him at his flat, sir." She said quietly. "There is footage of him leaving the airport and entering a taxi, but the image was distorted and we can't get a clear image. The camera captured the image over two hours ago."

Mycroft continued the frenzied messages but felt his entire body thrum with tension as every lead and possible explanation evaporated into nothing. He picked up the phone when his mother rang back and felt all hope escape in a rush with his breath when her words met his ears.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft." She said quietly. "I'm afraid Sawyer has been taken."

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John stretched languidly feeling all of his muscles tighten happily as he threw off the last vestige of sleep. He glanced around the chaotically filled flat and felt a giddy, stupid grin cross over his features. It was early afternoon when he'd collapsed onto the couch needing sleep so bad he was stuttering incoherently with exhaustion. It was now full dark and he had their space to himself for a few more hours. He scratched lazily at his stomach as he petered around in the kitchen putting the kettle on and checking the fridge for milk. He shifted the container of blood bags aside and peaked around the severed head and felt a small giggle escape his lips at the carton hidden in the back corner. He grabbed the carton as well as a bag of B positive and leaned against the worktop waiting for the kettle to go. He was squeezing the last few drops from the blood bag when he heard someone climb the stairs to their flat. Discarding the bag quickly in the newest addition to their kitchen (the biohazard bag that Mycroft had so thoughtfully given John as a Get Well gift several months ago), he turned to see Lestrade jerk his head around the corner.

"Hey, Lestrade." John said grinning. "Tea?"

Lestrade made a frantic motion to the corner of his mouth and he wiped the small speck of blood away quickly and rinsed hurriedly with a glass of water. He was setting the glass down in the sink when he saw a troupe of Yarders stomp into the flat and begin knocking stuff off tables.

"Oh, come on." John said feeling his excellent mood dim a bit. "I thought we were past the drug busts already."

"Sorry, John." Lestrade shrugged apologetically. "After last night…"

"He didn't actually even start that fire." John said defensively. "How was he supposed to know that the boot of that car was full of fireworks and petrol?"

"Nevertheless," Lestrade said firmly. "He shouldn't have even gotten near the crime scene with that lighter."

"It was one lighter and he was trying to prove a point." John answered.

"The flames were nearly twenty feet high and burned off Dimmock's eyebrows."

John shifted over when the kettle went and promptly refused to offer anyone else a cuppa. He mixed his tea and collapsed in a chair out of the way as they ransacked the flat. He really didn't even think anything at all until he heard Donovan's snort of disgust as she opened the fridge.

"Has the freak gone so completely psycho that he's bathing in blood now?" She sneered. "He has to have close to twenty bags in here. That has to be against regulations."

John's entire body froze with realization and he cursed himself seven different ways to Sunday at how stupid he'd been. He glanced over at Lestrade and saw him gaping like a fish uselessly. Perfect. They were both complete tossers.

"Of course I have a permit." A cold voice said calmly from the doorway. "And what I do in the privacy of my flat is none of your business, Donovan."

"I was right." She huffed. "You have gone completely around the bend. Sir? This isn't right. Only a complete and total monster would keep this much blood around."

John flinched and settled lower in his chair as Lestrade finally huffed in irritation and turned a withering look at his subordinate. "Sally, if he can produce a permit, then it's totally legitimate. We really don't need your social commentary."

"But sir," She continued. "These blood bags could be going to people who really need them. Kids who need transfusions. Not sitting in the fridge of some freak getting used for his own personal amusement."

"And that badge you're so proud of could be used by someone with the intelligence to be worthy of it." Sherlock snapped back. "But I guess neither of us will get what we want tonight."

Sally huffed angrily before striding out of the room and down the stairs. Sherlock strode through the flat angrily as he nudged his way through the officers who were enjoying the show over to the fireplace. Ripping the knife out of the wood work, he riffled through the papers and practically threw one of them at Lestrade.

"There." Sherlock growled. "Now get out."

Lestrade gave them both an apologetic look before glancing at the paper and nodding to himself. He jerked his head over to the men and had them almost running out of the flat at his dark glare. Within seconds, it was only the three of them in the flat. John stayed silent in the chair as Sherlock glared at Lestrade like the man had just smashed his favorite skull.

"These little break-ins will no longer be tolerated, Detective Inspector." Sherlock growled.

"I am sorry." Lestrade said. "I didn't even think about what they would find in the flat. John was so careful before."

"John shouldn't have to be careful in his own flat." Sherlock sneered. "You want to get back at me then you find another way but this is no longer an acceptable way. Have I made myself clear?"

Lestrade turned a spectacular shade of red before he glanced over to John and nodded. "I am sorry, John."

"It's fine." John said. "It didn't even cross my mind about possible drugs busts."

Lestrade left quickly after that and the flatmates glanced around at the mess disappointedly. John rose and placed his drained mug in the sink before beginning to reorganize the toppled stacks of papers.

"John…"Sherlock said hesitantly from behind him.

"Maybe Lestrade was right." John said quietly. "Maybe we shouldn't keep any in the flat. It was nice of Mycroft to set up the delivery service and everything but I doubt people won't notice."

"Don't be an idiot, John."Sherlock said reorganizing his chemistry set. "This is your home. It's completely ridiculous to expect you to wander two miles away just to obtain sustenance."

"You don't think it would be more logical to keep any incriminating evidence out of the flat?" John asked raising his eyebrow.

"Oh, please." Sherlock shrugged. "Any 'incriminating evidence' as you put it can easily be explained away."

"So why the big fuss tonight?" John asked curiously. "If it's so easily explainable, why demand that the drugs busts stop?"

"Because it was causing you distress." Sherlock said quietly. "I won't have that."

John felt something settle firmly in his throat and he swallowed past the lump several times before he was able to nod absently and return to his work. They worked in silence for the next half hour or so quickly putting the flat to rights and collapsed next to each other on the couch. John relaxed back into the worn out leather and sighed heavily.

"I was going to make dinner." John said absently.

"Special occasion?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"It's one year today that we moved into Baker Street." John said. "I thought we should celebrate, but the impromptu drugs bust seems fitting anyway."

Sherlock grinned ruefully and settled back against the couch. "It does seem poetic, doesn't it."

"I'm too knackered to even consider fixing dinner now." John sighed.

"We could order a take-away." Sherlock sighed. "But I'm not particularly hungry anyway."

John let out a smothered giggle and felt his chest swell with affection. The giggle turned into a manic sort of shaking mirth that had the consulting detective eyeing him curiously.

"Sorry." John said laughing. "I'm sorry. It's just so domestic."

"What is?" Sherlock asked still a bit confused.

"We're sitting at home on a Sunday evening having a completely legitimate conversation about dinner." John smiled.

"So?" Sherlock asked.

"A genius consulting detective and a vampire doctor." John answered. "It's almost like we're normal."

"You do realize what other, normal couples do." Sherlock said silkily. "Don't you?"

John felt his brain switch gears quickly as the genius splayed his knees open suggestively. He felt his pulse jump happily at this change in topics and smiled as he shifted to straddle the taller man's legs.

"I am sorry that normality is so tedious for you." John said leaving a light trail of kisses down Sherlock's throat.

"I think I'll survive." Sherlock said roughly as he ran his hands possessively over John's hips. John felt his heart flutter as Sherlock moaned loudly when John began sucking lightly on his earlobe. They played lightly for several minutes taking pleasure from the moans and gasps that they elicited from each other. Sherlock was just reaching to open John's fly and free his hard-on when the doctor heard someone fumbling with the downstairs doorknob.

"Did you lock the door after the Yarders left?" John groaned.

"I may have forgotten." Sherlock sighed heavily.

"Someone's coming up." John said shifting to get off Sherlock's lap.

"If it's Lestrade, I'm getting your gun." Sherlock huffed getting off the couch to go fiddle with his chemistry equipment.

"John?" A hesitant voice said from the doorway. John felt his entire body freeze at the familiar voice.

"Harry!" John said shocked turning to take in the sight of his older sister. She and John were often mistaken for twins when they were younger and it is painfully obvious how similar they still are in features. She had bobbed, mousy brown hair and big blue eyes framed in a warm face. She was also drunk. Fantastic.

"Oh my god, John." She sobbed practically tackling him to pull him into a hug. "Fuck. I missed you."

"Harry?" John asked again pointedly not looking at his flatmate who had left the kitchen to watch the exchange between the siblings. "What are you doing here?"

"I went to your old place." She slurred still crying as she clung to him. "And you weren't there. The landlord gave me your new address and I had to see you. Why didn't you tell me that you'd moved?"

"I don't know." He answered lamely.

"Don't you care about me, John?" She cried. "Don't I matter to you at all? It's like you don't even care about me. Your only sister and you couldn't bother to call."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong." Sherlock drawled sarcastically. "But I've been reliably informed that road goes both ways, Ms. Watson."

Harry stumbled away from John a bit but still clung to his forearms to counterbalance her drunken swaying. She slowly took stock of John's tall genius and seemed to settle on suspicious dislike as her immediate impression.

"Who the bloody fuck are you?" She practically growled.

"Sherlock Holmes." He said with a ridiculous flourish, which was made even more strange with the beaker of cow's eyes in his hand.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" She asked rudely.

"I wrote about him on my blog." John explained. "I sent you the link."

"Right." She slurred. "That ridiculous thing your daft therapist has you doing? Sorry sweetie, I've just been too busy to get a chance to read it."

"Yes, alcoholism does take up much of your time these days." Sherlock growled.

"You're going to let him talk to me like that, are you?" Harry huffed, obviously offended.

"Sherlock." John said tiredly. "Don't. You too, Harry."

"And what did I do?" She asked, getting hysterical. "All I've done is come visit my only brother who hasn't the decency to even send me his own address."

"Harry," John said in warning. "Just stop. If you'd read my blog, you'd have known that I'd moved out of the bedsit."

"Well, I'm sorry that I have to rely on some stupid website to get any information from my only family." She said gulping through sobs. "Honestly John, I have a life and a job. Not everything is about you. I should have to spend time scouring the internet. You should have called!"

"Harry." John said firmly. "I'm not doing this at midnight and I'm certainly not doing this while you're drunk. Now, do you want me to call you a cab or do you want to stay the night?"

She pulled back to level a calculating glare at her younger brother dropping the sobbing sister act quickly. She stared for several seconds before leaning into him and begging to stay the night. He helped her up to his room and fought with her to get her coat and boots off. After two large glasses of water and a well-placed bucket, John left his sister to sleep off her night in his bed. He wandered back down to the common area to find Sherlock back at his chemistry set.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly. "She…well…she was in fine form tonight."

"If it wasn't for your obvious physical similarities," Sherlock huffed not glancing up from his work. "I would declare that you two are not related in any way shape or form."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"She's absolutely nothing like you." He said quietly.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" John asked.

"Take it however you want it." Sherlock said. "But, in addition, I would like to point out that even with you being a vampire she has a more venomous bite than you."

"Right." He said smiling. "Compliment then."

He walked forward and wrapped his arms snugly around the detective leaning his head forward to make contact with that wonderful heartbeat that seemed to calm him just by continuing its normal pattern. He felt Sherlock relax incrementally as he held on for several minutes.

"Did you want to take my room?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"No," He sighed. "I'll take the couch. I wouldn't want to deprive you of your bed."

"We could share the bed…" Sherlock said quietly.

John felt his insides wither a bit. Of everything that had happened over the past few months, he was still uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed with his genius. They'd tried it, but it always ended with John shifting awkwardly, jerking awake the minute he fell asleep, and breaking out in a cold sweat during the night.

"Still not ready." He answered quietly, his face buried in Sherlock back. "The couch is fine."

"Alright." Sherlock answered, but John could hear the hint of disappointment in his tone. "Goodnight John."

"Goodnight." John said placing a gentle kiss between the taller man's shoulder blades.

John stripped down to his undershirt and pants before lying down on the uncomfortable couch and pulling a few throw rugs over him. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift away, falling asleep to light tinkling sound of beakers knocking against each other gently.

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**Better? Worse? Help! I'm full of writing angst right now. Sigh. **


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was just lying down to catch a few hours of sleep when a high-pitch shriek issued from the direction of the kitchen. He glanced at the clock and noticed that it was close to 7am and deduced that it was probably Harry finding the severed head. He rolled back over fully intending to ignore the insufferable woman get some sleep when the door to his bedroom was thrown open burying the handle deep into the wall behind it.

"That'll be coming out of your pocket." Sherlock growled still not looking at the fuming woman standing is his doorway.

"Are you some kind of psycho murderer?" She shouted. "Seriously, if you're some kind of complete and total freak, I will call the police."

"Ask for Lestrade and please feel free to fuck the fuck off." He growled into the pillows.

"Harry!" John shouted just behind her. "What are you doing?"

"I should be asking you the same question." She said sharply. "What in the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into? You're living with a total nutjob."

"Stop it." John said firmly. "He's a consulting detective, Harry. He works with the police to solve cases."

"And that's supposed to magically explain the head in the fridge?" She countered angrily.

"He does important experiments to aide in his work." He explained still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "The more he knows the quicker he can find the criminals."

"I know you went a bit barmy during the war, John." She said loudly. "But, honestly, this is just too much. You need serious help."

"Harry." John said darkly. "You came to me last night, remember? Not the other way around. You don't get to comment on my life choices and frankly I think that helping Sherlock with cases is a whole lot more well-adjusted than drowning myself in liquor every night!"

Sherlock rolled over after the elongated silence that had descended over the trio. He sighed heavily as tears started trailing down Harry's cheeks and John's cheeks flushed in frustration.

"You're so mean to me." She hiccuped.

"I'm sorry." John said quietly hanging his head and trying to work out the tension in his shoulders. "But you have to stop. This is my life. You can't just judge my life when you know so little about it."

"I'm just trying to look out for you." She sobbed. "And you're just terrible to me in return. Honestly, is it so bad having me look out for you?"

"Oh, please…" Sherlock began angrily.

"Sherlock, don't." John said firmly before turning back to his sister. "Harry, just tell me why you're here. I don't want to fight with you and I certainly don't want to do it in front of my flatmate. So, what is it? Why did you show up out of the blue?"

She looked at him for a few minutes before sighing and leaning against the doorjamb looking down at the floor.

"Can we not do this in front of your flatmate?" She asked.

"Fine, let's go in the kitchen." He answered.

He led her into the kitchen and directed her to a chair while he began making tea. He ignored the sound and smell of the consulting detective crouching in the hallway to eavesdrop on the conversation. Sherlock probably already figured it out already.

"Out with it." He huffed.

"Clara moved out again." She answered.

"I didn't even know that she'd moved back in." John said rubbing his hands through his mussed blond hair.

"That's because you don't even care about me." She said and tears began forming at the corners of her eyes.

"No." John said firmly. "None of that. You want to play the victim, then there are millions of people in this city who would love to pity you, but I'm not playing this game. Especially after you vomited all over my bedspread."

"How did you…" She began.

"It smells awful." He said. "Now, she moved out again. What do you need from me?"

"I want you to go talk to her." She whined. "She likes you."

"Correction." John said. "She _liked_ me when I was the best man at your ceremony. That was years ago, Harry."

"Please." She whined. "Just go talk to her. She'll listen to you."

"Harry…" He sighed.

"Please, John!" She pouted. "Please, please, please. You're my brother, you have to help me."

"Don't push it." He growled.

He stared into his sister's angst-ridden face and felt his resolve to stay completely out of her most likely self-created mess dissolve quickly.

"Fine." He huffed. "But I don't exactly know what you expect me to say. I haven't spoken to Clara in years."

"You'll say just the right thing, John." Harry crowed happily. "Thank you! You're the best. Now, I'm going to get out of this complete and total pigsty. Here's her address. Please call her within the week. Bye John!"

She scuttled out of the apartment quickly after that. John collapsed back into one of the kitchen chairs rubbing his temples viciously.

"You're incredibly easy to manipulate." Sherlock drawled from the doorway.

"Stuff it." John said quietly. "I made you a cuppa."

Sherlock shuffled into the room grabbing his tea and returning to his room calling behind him, "Coming?"

John dragged himself up, grabbed his own tea, and joined the lanky detective in his room. They collapsed onto the bed together with Sherlock clinging to John like a limpet. Within minutes, Sherlock was out not even bothering to finish his tea. John chuckled slightly as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and grabbing his book on the side table. He may not be alright to sleep with Sherlock, but the genius always seemed to sleep deeper and longer if he was wrapped around the doctor. He settled in for a comfortable morning in bed pushing away thoughts of sick-soaked sheets in his room and the inevitable awkward conversation with his ex-sister-in-law.

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Bill Murray stood on the pier looking out at the river feeling unease skitter along his nerves. He'd been a bit frantic since he'd received the message from Margaret about Sawyer disappearance. So far, he'd traced the gritty CCTV footage to this pier. They knew that Sawyer was taken from the airport by someone smart enough to avoid all the cameras getting a good look at his face. His mate had left with the man almost willingly in the back of the cab. They almost missed the slight figure slipping in behind him. But shortly after that, they switched rides to a van where Sawyer was cuffed and thrown in the back. The van was difficult to track through the city streets but they'd eventually found it abandoned in this lot. The forensics team had found next to nothing except a drop of Sawyer's blood and a few scuff marks as a sign of his mate's struggle to get out of the vehicle.

"Anything?" Mycroft asked walking up quickly to the larger man.

"Nothing incredibly helpful." Murray sighed. "The van was reported stolen, prints wiped clean, area not monitored by cameras. We're fucked. This guy knew exactly what he was doing. And he'd have to be incredibly talented to maneuver a pissed-off Sawyer anywhere quickly."

"And the theory is still that he knew his captor, correct?" Mycroft asked.

"He'd have to." Murray said. "There is no way Sawyer would share a cab with someone he didn't know."

"I've started a preliminary search into Sawyer's family and acquaintances." Mycroft answered competently. "If there is anything suspicious, I will be able to identify it."

"I'll look into any of his contacts with the Agency." Murray said. "He has worked some high profile, risky operations over the past year. It could be someone from one of those previous cases."

"The odds aren't good." Mycroft said factually. "It's already been almost twenty hours since his disappearance. Statistically, if he's not found in the first twenty-four…"

"Well, Sawyer sort of exists outside those statistics." Murray said firmly. "He's fine, Mycroft. We'll find him."

"Yes." Mycroft said absently. "I hope so."

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Sawyer jerked awake as someone tossed a bucket full of freezing cold water over him. He tested the strength of his bonds for the fifth time since he'd been tied in the chair.

"Wakey, wakey." The man said wickedly.

"You're one twisted son of a bitch." Sawyer growled.

"Come now, Richard." He giggled. "You don't seem glad to see me."

"Can't say that I am, no." Sawyer huffed. "Would you mind sharing exactly why you've gone all 'stereotypical criminal' on us?"

"Oh, don't get so irritated." He answered happily. "It's not personal or anything. Well, capturing you wasn't. I'm just doing a job and getting paid spectacularly well, actually."

"What do you mean?" Sawyer asked confused. "Doing what job?"

"That's my business." He said. "Need to know and what not."

"So, you've captured me." He drawled. "What now? Torture me to get information? You have to know that Margaret would train me better than that."

"Oh, please." He smirked. "This has nothing to do with your new adorable career path."

"Then I'm at a loss."Sawyer sighed. "Why exactly am I strung up like a Christmas tree?"

"Retribution." He said gleefully.

"I thought you said that this wasn't personal?" Sawyer asked feeling something icy jump up his spine.

"Well, with you it isn't." He answered. "You're just bait. My real quarry is much more interesting."

"Quarry?" Sawyer asked. "Who exactly is this all for?"

"How's that little spawn of the devil doing?" He asked friendly. "John Watson was always the nicest little freak."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Sawyer growled fighting back the panic that was clawing at his insides.

"Oh, ya know." The man smiled. "Thought I might go visit an old Army buddy. I had to create a bit of a distraction so that the both Mycroft and his mother were preoccupied long enough for me to get close. That's where you come in, Richard. With them focused on finding you, it will give me more than enough time to see John and take care of him according to my employer's specifications."

"And who exactly is your employer?" Sawyer huffed.

"The same people you've been investigating since you captured Henry." He replied. "The people who hired Henry to turn a soldier in the first place."

"You won't get away with this." Sawyer said angrily. "You'll never get close enough to John to hurt him."

"We'll just see about that, won't we?" He answered before turning to head out the door. He tossed another pleased grin at the tied-up man before heading off down the hallway.

"Sebastian!" Sawyer shouted after him. "Sebastian! Damn it, Moran!"

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"You're awake." John chuckled lightly running his free hand through Sherlock's curls.

"Barely." Sherlock grumbled. "I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"Well you did work a case non-stop for close to a week." John answered. "No wonder you're completely knackered."

"I used to be able to go non-stop for a month without this insipid need to sleep overtaking me." Sherlock growled.

"Well, you're not exactly twenty anymore, Sherlock." John teased. "Your body can't run on hormones and willpower forever."

"Like hell it can't." Sherlock huffed.

John giggled and then gasped as Sherlock ran a rough hand over his groin. "Oi, watch it!"

"Make me." Sherlock purred. The taller man crawled over John sliding one thigh between the doctor's legs and kissed him deeply. John quickly tossed the book across the room before grabbing at Sherlock's neck possessively pulling him in closer and moaning as Sherlock began grinding against him. The room suddenly seemed about seventy degrees to warm and they fought to strip each other of the clothes that were separating them. They fell back against the sheets with Sherlock wasting no time in slithering down and taking John's cock in those sweet, heart-shaped lips. John gasped and twisted his hands tightly in the bedding as Sherlock sent him into sensation overload with his tongue: that delightful little muscle that licked and swirled and scraped across his sensitive skin without any hesitation.

"Fuck, Sherlock." John moaned loudly feeling a light sweat breakout over his skin followed quickly by goosebumps.

Sherlock worked passionately for several more minutes before letting go with a slight pop just before sending John over that delicious edge into bliss.

"No, John." He said silkily. "Fuck me."

John exploded into motion pushing Sherlock onto his back and grabbing for the well-stocked supply drawer for lubricant. He pulled the taller man in close for a rough kiss working the detective's legs apart with his knees before leaving a trail of lube liberally over his balls and between those creamy cheeks. He ran a lube-slick finger teasingly over Sherlock's entrance causing the detective to pant in anticipation before pushing in lightly. The taller man thrust down onto the doctor's fingers and the heat almost sent John over the edge again. The blond worked quickly with shaking hands to open up the man beneath him, pleasure-drunk from the intimacy of the action.

"Tell me what you want." John said shakily as he pressed once more on Sherlock's prostate causing the taller man to writhe erotically on the sheets.

"I want to see you." Sherlock breathed heavily. He quickly maneuvered their bodies so that John was sitting with his back against the headboard as the taller man crowded close before shifting over John and lowering himself slowly onto the doctor's cock.

"Shit." John moaned quietly at the heat and pressure on his sensitive skin.

"Kiss me." Sherlock demanded as he started to move slowly up and down John's lube-slicked erection.

They clung to each other, lips pressed close as Sherlock set a grueling and mesmerizing pace thrusting heavily and panting as his prostate was caressed over and over and over again. John took Sherlock in one shaky hand and began pumping quickly paying extra attention to the head and slit relishing the look of complete ecstasy on his partner's pale features. The heat and pressure and pleasure of the moment were quickly winding up the doctor's spine setting up an orgasm of epic proportions. His hips began bucking erratically and his entire body filled with sparking delight as Sherlock began moaning his name as the taller man's own pleasure caused his body to arch into John's and clamp tightly around his dick as the doctor's hand was coated in sticky white fluid. John followed quickly as the hazy warmth settled into his skin like the sun on a bright afternoon. They clung to each other as the aftershocks sent shivers over their skin. They disentangled and John took care of the clean-up with an errant pair of pants before pulling the detective close as they lay together on the sheets. They quietly caressed each other's skin absently relaxing into the moment as simply as breathing air.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

"Yes?" John breathed on the brink of a luxurious cat nap.

"Will you stay?" He asked. "Just this once? It's just a nap."

John sighed heavily before leaving a light kiss on the taller man's clavicle. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."

Sherlock was quiet for several seconds but nodded anyway snuggling close to the shorter man letting his eyes drift closed and relaxing as sleep overwhelmed him.

John waited several more minutes before moving slowly out of his partner's embrace feeling the cold inexplicably more than he should as he moved to retrieve his clothes and retreat up to his own bedroom.

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"Yeah, Clara." John said into his mobile. "That sounds great. Just stop by anytime. I'll be here."

John rang off and assessed his completely trashed living room sighing heavily. He glanced at his watch and then began organizing fervently. He liked Clara, he really did, and she was a stickler for everything being orderly and well-kept. He doubted that she would be that impressed with their flat in general but at this point he was just working toward "not so disgusted that she leaves immediately". Sherlock had left to work on some cold cases for Lestrade that shouldn't last more than a few hours and Clara was due to arrive in the next half hour or so. He quickly assessed the horror factor of the kitchen and made some quick adjustments to the layout. He was just putting the biohazard bin far back in one of the less used cupboards when he heard the bell go downstairs. Mrs. Hudson got the door and he heard her direct Clara to the upstairs flat. He was moving the lab equipment to the side of the kitchen table and called out, "Clara, I'm in the kitchen!"

"You better have made tea." She called back.

John turned to grin as the tall willowy brunette turned the corner and promptly ducked as she fired a round into the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, Clara!" He shouted from behind the counter.

"Where the fuck is it, John!" She called darkly. "I know one of them is here! Tell me!"

"One what?" He called out. "Fuck, what's going on?"

"A vampire, John." She cried still waving her gun around like a lunatic. "I can practically feel that bastard's evil invading this flat. Now, tell me where it is."

John felt his entire being flush with a strange ache as he stayed crouched behind the counter.

"I don't understand." He said weakly.

"I know this is probably really scary for you, John." She explained. "But monsters exist and there is one in this flat, I just know it."

"Clara?" He asked sadly. "Do you promise not to shoot me if I get up?"

"Of course I'm not going to shoot you." She scoffed. "I'm going to fill that thing full of silver bullets, not you."

"Well…" He said quietly. "That's the thing…"

"John?" She said sounding uncertain for the first time. "What are you saying?"

"I sort of…well…not by choice…it's kind of a messy situation." He finished flustered.

"Yeah," She said. "I'm going to need something a bit more clear."

"I was changed when I was in the Army." He sighed. "Not by choice, they thought it was a smart, tactical decision."

"They changed you?" She said sounding shocked. "The government turned you into a vampire?"

"Basically." He said. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"Who do you feed from?" She asked suspiciously.

"I don't." he said firmly. "Check the fridge. I get a supply of blood bags from the government each month."

"Never?" She said. "Not once?"

"Once." John said brokenly. "I was sort of tortured and starved. No excuse, I know. But still, not since."

"How long?" She asked next.

"Less than three years." He answered still curled protectively against the wall.

"Who made you?" She asked. "Are they here?"

"He's dead." John said firmly. "Seems the government doesn't take kindly to vampires trying to steal military secrets."

"You can come out." She sighed. "I'm not going to shoot you."

He shifted and glanced quickly around the corner taking in Clara stashing the gun away in her bag again. He stood hesitantly and faced his ex-sister-in-law who'd just tried to kill him, "Bloody hell, Clara. You shot the kettle."

"Sorry," She said wryly. "Old habits die hard."

"Old habits?" He asked as he surveyed the damage and went to fetch a broom to sweep up the broken glass.

"Sort of a family thing." She sighed.

"The family business is vampire hunting?" He asked curiously, binning the glass shards and turning to fetch the replacement kettle. John tended to keep an extra tucked away just in case Sherlock did something unforgivable to the one on the cooktop.

"Not quite a business." She said. "But when you turn sixteen, you spend three months with a relative and are given your first silver-loaded gun. Some take to the life, others don't. But we all can spot a vampire from a mile away."

"Did you tell Harry?" He asked.

"God no." She chuckled. "Could you imagine? She'd be a mess."

"You're right, that would be a terrible idea." He said, filling the kettle and placing it on the cooktop. "Shall we try this again, then? Tea?"

"Yes, please." She smiled.

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**Still better? Still worse? Let me know! Thanks so much!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock raced up the stairs three at a time and practically broke down the door prepared for the worst and seemed to freeze momentarily at the sight in front of him.

"Sherlock!" John asked worried. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" Sherlock asked. "Am _I _alright! I'm not the one who seems to have been in a gun fight this evening."

"How did you…?" John asked as he stood to get another cup of tea ready for the detective.

"Mycroft's security." Sherlock explained crowding close to the unknown female who'd shot at his John. "How would you like to spend the next twenty years in prison?"

"Sherlock." John said quietly. "It's fine. It's all fine. This is Clara, Harry's ex."

Clara held out a hand hesitantly to shake it, but pulled it back at the frankly terrifying cold features of the tall man.

"I did apologize." She said quietly staring at the contents of her tea cup.

"She just got a bit trigger happy." John tried to explain away the fierce look on the detective's face. "She thought there was a vampire in the flat."

"There _is _a vampire in the flat." Sherlock said icily. "Is that a problem?"

"I was just surprised." She said. "And I never expected it to be John. I thought he was in danger."

"And now?" He asked.

"Frankly, I'm more terrified of you at the moment." She said leaning back a bit further.

"You should be." He said quietly.

"Sherlock." John sighed. "Stop it, you great terrifying git. Now, do you want tea or not?"

Sherlock kept an eye on Clara as he walked over to pull John into a light kiss before whispering an affirmative and sitting firmly between the two.

"John!" Clara called out happily. "You didn't tell me you were shagging the flatmate!"

"It didn't come up between the guns and vampires." John shrugged.

"Still." She said eying Sherlock in a whole new light. "Well done."

"Thank you." He grinned placing a cup in front of the glaring detective and dropping a kiss lightly in his frazzled curls. He smiled even bigger as Sherlock seemed to preen under the compliment and kiss.

"Does Harry know?" Clara asked curiously.

"No idea." John answered honestly. "You know how she is; she gets so consumed with her own stuff, it's almost impossible for her to even acknowledge anyone else."

"I would bet you fifty quid that she didn't even ask about how you are." Clara sighed. "She probably just flew in, said awful, judgmental things, made her demands, and flew out again."

"Yes, and shooting at people is so much more refined." Sherlock bit out behind his mug.

"I did say I was sorry." Clara said again looking truly apologetic.

"Should we get down to business then?" John said leaning forward resting his elbows on the table.

"And what business is that?" Clara replied mirroring his posture.

"What in the bloody hell am I going to tell Harry we talked about?" He asked.

Clara sighed and rested her chin heavily on her palms, "No idea. What do you think I should do?"

"I don't think you want me answering that." John said.

"I do." She said fervently.

John looked at Clara evenly and shook his head slightly. He couldn't tell her that he thought she was better off without his controlling, manipulative sister. He couldn't do that to Harry. Clara was the best thing to ever happen to his sister and it made him sick that she was determined to ruin this gift.

"I'll answer that question." Sherlock cut in with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Sherlock…" John said warningly.

"No," Clara said firmly. "It's fine. Tell me what you think, Sherlock. Should I try and fix things with Harry?"

"Oh, boy." John said whispered and leaned back resigning himself to the fact that the gun might make another appearance this evening and be aimed at his crazy flatmate's forehead.

"You're a co-dependent." Sherlock began. "You need people to need you. That's why you've gone back to Harry over and over again in the past. Being a strong, well-adjusted entrepreneur isn't enough. You don't feel complete unless someone _needs_ you to care for them. Harry's a perfect example of that personality. She's a self-absorbed drunk who's manipulative and opportunistic. That's why she goes back to you. You're practically made for each other. You'll continue this little dance several times over the next five to six years before she'll eventually go for someone younger or richer or more easily manipulated. You'll be alone and friendless. Because let's face it, she's probably driven away all of the friends you'd made at university and she doesn't really allow you to have any free time to spend with mates from work or your past. She takes up all of your time and you let her because it makes you feel important."

Clara stared at the consulting detective silently for several minutes before pushing her chair away from the table and walking slowly over to the couch and collapsing heavily onto it.

"Well done." John said quietly before wandering over to the couch and sitting carefully next to the shell-shocked woman. "Clara? I'm sorry about Sherlock…"

"Don't be." She whispered. "He's right. I can't really be angry at him for being right, can I?"

"Do you need anything?" John asked. "Another cup of tea?"

"I think I need to shoot something." She answered.

"I would really not be okay with you shooting my flatmate." John said firmly.

"No," She said a small smile crossing her features. "I was thinking of going to the shooting range."

"Do you want company?" John shrugged lightly.

"I'd like that." Clara said turning that tiny smile toward him.

"You're not going without me." Sherlock huffed. "She did try to kill you earlier, John."

"Fine." John conceded standing to grab his coat and his own gun from his cabinet in his room. "Let's go shoot something."

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Lestrade was sitting at his desk going over paperwork for what felt like the past year when he heard someone push open his door lightly. He jerked as he glanced up and clapped eyes on Bill Murray.

"Bloody hell." Lestrade said rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"Disappointed?" The giant grinned lightly.

"Never." Lestrade answered as he stood to shake hands with his one-time working partner. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I wish I had time." Murray sighed heavily collapsing into one of the chairs in front of the Detective Inspector's desk.

"What's up, mate?" Lestrade asked. "You look like shit."

"Thanks." Murray answered. He rubbed his eyes heavily before leaning forward and staring intently at the officer. "I need your help."

"My help?" Lestrade asked curiously. "What could I possibly help you with?"

"We've a bit of a…situation…" Bill said hesitantly. "It's incredibly classified and only a few individuals know exactly what's going on. There's a suspicion that we have a mole inside our operation. The thing is that we have almost no way of flushing the person out right now."

"Why not?" Lestrade asked confused. "Surely, it wouldn't be that difficult."

"Normally, it wouldn't." Murray confessed. "But time is a major factor for us right now. We're fighting the clock as it is. I need someone that I can rely on now. That I can trust."

"Why not call John?" Lestrade asked. "Or Sherlock?"

"I need someone who won't look out of place in a government building." Murray said. "John is quite possibly the polar opposite of a stodgy bureaucrat and Sherlock is too well-known by many government agencies not to be immediately recognized. No, I need someone accustomed to the system. A DI at a government building would be par for the course. I know it's a leap of faith for you because I can't even begin to disclose any information until I have your complete cooperation, but, Geoff, will you help me?"

Lestrade studied the man in front of him, drinking in the frazzled and exhausted lines of his face before sighing heavily and closing the file folder on his desk, "Of course I'll help. What do you need?"

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"Your stance is awful." John chuckled, adjusting Sherlock's hips and shoulders competently before gesturing for him to try again.

He smiled as Sherlock shot off another round getting a bit closer to the target with the new position.

"Much better." Clara grinned.

"And you can do better I suppose." Sherlock huffed. He wasn't normally accustomed to being outdone by anyone. Being outdone by a former soldier with enhanced sensory skills was one thing, but a civilian was another matter entirely.

Clara settled a knowing look in his direction before lining up her own shot and firing confidently. She did quite well obviously out-doing the detective which caused another huff from the tall man. They practiced for several more rounds and by the end of it, Sherlock was once again proving his spectacular aptitude of everything under the sun and was hitting the target squarely in the chest. They were cleaning the hardware and stowing it away carefully when John did a double take at one of the other men in the cage.

"Sebastian?" He asked surprised. The man turned confused at who exactly was calling his name but smiled widely when he met John's face.

"John Watson?" Sebastian said happily. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you." John said, moving to hug his old Army mate. "When did you get back?"

"Just a few months ago." Sebastian answered.

"Well, welcome back." John said happily.

"Thanks, mate." Sebastian smiled back. "We should grab a pint. What about tonight?"

"John?" Sherlock called glancing at his phone. "Dimmock has a case for us. We have to go."

"Right." John answered. "Maybe another time? I've gotta dash. Here's my cell number."

"Alright." Sebastian answered looking a bit put out. "I'll call you."

"Great!" John said. "Bye."

"Bye."

Sherlock was just hailing a cab when Clara spoke up behind them. "I better be going then"

"Yeah." John said. "I'm sorry about…well…"

"It's fine." She waved away the apology. "I'm sorry I tried to shoot you."

"That's alright." John chuckled. "Worse things have happened. Stay in touch?"

"Of course." She smiled. "See you soon, John."

"Sounds good." He answered "Goodbye Clara."

"Goodbye Sherlock." She called as she walked to the Tube station.

Sherlock made some sort of noise in his throat in reply and practically threw himself into the cab. They had hit traffic on their way and Sherlock was practically vibrating with impatience. By the time they actually made it to the crime scene, Sherlock was so tightly wound he all but shoved Anderson out of the way to get to the scene. He darted around the room where the body lay sprawled across a king-size bed like a gruesome rag doll. All of the man's limbs had been broken and arranged in a particular pattern that was eerie in how unnatural it made him look. John was watching the lanky man in delight as Donovan approached to lean on the opposite wall next to him.

"So you're still with the freak?" Donovan asked.

"Listen," John said firmly. "You want to call him that in front of anyone else, feel free, but don't do it in front of me. I get it, you don't like him. But I won't let you say it in front of me."

"Fond of a psychopath?" Donovan asked curiously. "You're in for a world of trouble."

"Stop." John said politely but with an edge.

"It's your funeral, mate." She shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I don't need any kind of warning." He sighed heavily.

"You're with the freak," She countered. "Of course you need warning."

"That's right I am with him." John said finally pissed enough to hang discretion. "And we had a fantastic shag just this morning!"

John then turned and stalked away relishing the look of shock on Sgt. Donovan's face before walking quickly out of the building and around the corner. He rested his head against the brick and breathed slowly. He stood there for several minutes and cringed as he watched Sherlock leave the building and scan the area for him a slight frown on his sharp features. Catching sight of the doctor, Sherlock stalked toward him and stopped just inches away.

"I'm sorry." John said. "I know that we decided to keep it quiet, Donovan just…"

John didn't have time for anything else because Sherlock had pulled him close and kissed him sweetly for several minutes.

"I don't mind people knowing," Sherlock said. "I just prefer not to be constantly snogging at crime scenes this time excluded, of course."

"Right." John sighed smiling. "Did you want me to look at the body?"

"No," Sherlock said. "It was a fairly uninteresting murder. We can go home."

"Alright." John said. "Did you want to get a take-away?"

"Later, yes." Sherlock answered as he turned to hail a cab. "But right now I want to go home and work off the arousal currently making these trousers incredibly uncomfortable."

"Really?" John asked surprised.

"Apparently," Sherlock said opening the cab door for the doctor. "You being protective is a bit of a turn-on."

"Well then." John smiled. "I'd love to help you with that."

"Fantastic." Sherlock answered.

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End file.
